Love You Long Time
by JazzyLittleMonster
Summary: Katniss becomes a mail order bride to feed her starving family. The American husband who chooses her is a war veteran named Peeta Mellark. Will being married to him be as awful as she anticipates or will he surprise her? Katniss/Peeta. Modern AU.
1. From Russia, With Love

**Summary**: AU. Katniss becomes a mail order bride to feed her starving family. The husband who chooses her is a war veteran named Peeta Mellark. Will being married to him be as awful as she thought?

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**Love You Long Time**

Katniss swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat as she stepped through the Arrivals gate, looking for the Agency Representative holding a sign with her name on it.

She found the woman sticking out from the crowd, garishly made up as though she were going to a party, not standing in an airport.

"Hello," she mumbled, self-conscious of her English.

"Katniss?" the woman enquired, with a smile so bright it made Katniss deeply uncomfortable.

"Yes," she replied, taking in the woman's bottle blonde hair and bright pink lipstick.

"What a beautiful young lady, someone's in for a treat!" the woman patted Katniss' face as if she were a show pony.

"I'm Effie Trinket, I'll be your escort to your new husband," the brash American woman smiled again and Katniss wondered what her chances of escape were.

But, no. Even though she could easily outrun the woman, she had no ticket to return home. And even if by some miracle she could afford one, returning home would do Prim and her mother no good. She had come to America to save them from starvation and she would see it through. The Agency would be sure to take the money away if she backed out now. And she hoped that the man they married her to would be rich enough that she could send even more home, to take care of them when the Agency sign up payment ran out.

His house was nicer than the mayor's house in her town.

Katniss' thighs stuck to the leather seat of Effie Trinket's plush car as they pulled into his driveway. Pennsylvania was hotter than she was used to at this time of year, though thankfully still green, like her home District had been. It already hurt her heart to remember it and she wondered if time would make the pain worse or ease it.

Prim had promised to write, and Katniss had sworn they'd see each other again one day. It was too much to hope that her new husband would let her visit her family. She wasn't sure she even trusted herself to be able to return to him if by some miracle he did. And she didn't want Prim coming to America unless it was under her own volition, for a better life, not to enter into a Mail Order Marriage. But she had to believe that one day she'd see her sister again. And her mother. And her best friend, Gale. Another person it hurt her heart to think about, so she stopped, turning her attention to Effie's chatter as they walked up the path to his front door, dragging her suitcase behind her. The heels Effie had put her in pinched, and the make-up felt stiff and unnatural on her face.

"Remember, your new husband has paid a lot of money for your company. Don't forget your training. Always smile, dress demurely but attractively, and make sure you are pleasant and entertaining company. Defer to your husband's opinion on matters of importance, and don't question his judgement, even though it may be different from your own. You are here to learn how to be the best wife possible for your new husband. You wouldn't want to upset him after he spent all that money on you, and have him send you back, now, would you?" Effie's shrill laugh chills Katniss to the core.

She grits her teeth at the memory of the Agency's "training". She's surprised they even passed her. Katniss was not a woman who deferred to the opinions of others, and her smiles were given when she chose. Even though she had stooped to an arranged marriage to feed her family, her morals and self-respect were things she could not bring herself to compromise on. If that meant the idiot who bought her had to send her back, well then…she'd just have to hope they'd legalized hunting again by the time she got back home. If it weren't for the new strict government, she'd have been able to continue feeding her family without having to resort to this.

Even she had been surprised to pass training after the awful performance she'd given. Haymitch, her coach at the Agency in her hometown had said they were planning to fail her, but an American had seen her introduction video on the site and chosen her. He said when they tried to tell the American she was no longer available he offered even more money for her, until they relented. They were only in it for the money after all.

Katniss wondered who awaited behind that front door. What man would pay so much just for her? Who would possibly want her specifically, when she had been so surly and unbecoming in her interview video? She hoped he was a man who valued authenticity, but feared he might be a brute who liked a challenge.

She knew he was an ex-Army Officer, so she'd prepared herself that he might be violent. She had every intention of fighting back if she had to, demureness training be damned. She also knew he'd lost a leg in the Army, which she assumed was why he was lonely enough to buy an arranged marriage, though maybe his face or personality was ugly too. All this, Katniss had prepared herself for. As long as he treated her with respect, she was willing to be as dutiful a wife as her rebellious spirit would allow, for the sake of her family. For Prim.

She was not prepared for the brilliant blue eyes of the man who opened the door.

"Welcome!" his greeting was warm, and his hand was warm when he shook hers.

"Please, come in, it's so nice to finally meet you," he was grinning widely, but unlike Effie's his didn't make Katniss uncomfortable. It eased a little of the apprehension in her gut.

His voice was deep and smooth, he was young and attractive, with blonde hair that fell into his eyes. She could barely tell that one of his legs was false, and she could almost fell the warmth radiating from him. Katniss breathed a little easier. She knew she could have done a lot worse for a husband.

If she didn't know for certain that he'd purchased her, Katniss would never guess that this man would be the type to order a foreign bride. He seemed so happy, so...attractive, physically and in his demeanor. Nothing like the shy or crippled or moody or old or repulsive man she had anticipated.

"Peeta, this is your new wife," Effie was beside herself with fake-seeming joy.

"You just need to sign here, and then I'll leave the two of you to get acquainted," she nudged Peeta conspiratorially and winked in a way that made Katniss' stomach flip.

She knew she'd have to do that soon, probably tonight, but she'd never done it before, not even with Gale, and was not looking forward to it. It was better if she just didn't think about it. Maybe she could zone out while it was happening and it'd be over before she knew it. Poor man being so lonely probably wouldn't last long.

Peeta signed the marriage contract and dismissed Effie with a wave.

"If you have any problems, just give me a call," Effie eyed Katniss warily. Katniss didn't like the way the look implied Peeta would have cause to use her number.

"I'm sure we'll be just fine, thank you," Peeta replied pleasantly. Katniss felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She jumped a little in surprise and he withdrew it, looking bashful.

"Sorry," he smiled ruefully, "Didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's OK," after getting over the shock, Katniss almost missed the warmth of his hand anchoring her to the world, as her last connection with the Agency and her former life drove away from her.

"So, welcome home," Peeta watched her intently for a response and his attention made Katniss blush. He eventually seemed to sense her discomfort and broke the awkward tension easily and jovially.

"Let's get your things unpacked," Peeta took hold of her small suitcase, containing her few belongings, and started up the stairs.

Katniss wanted to say that it was OK, she could do it, but his leg didn't seem to be bothering him and she didn't fully trust her English.

Peeta showed her to a room bigger than her family's entire house.

"Would you like help unpacking?" he asked, so relaxed and welcoming, as though settling new wives into his home was something he did every day.

"No, thank you," Katniss managed a small smile, hoping he wouldn't be offended.

"All right, I'll get started on some dinner," he rubbed his hands together eagerly, "You must be hungry after the long trip."

"Yes," Katniss nodded, "Thank you," she added.

As he headed for the kitchen, alarm bells went off in her head.

"Wait," she called. His big blonde head reappeared in the doorframe.

"I can make food," she struggled with the English sentence, "dinner," she found it, "I can make you dinner."

"No, please, relax," he grinned good-naturedly. "You're welcome to help if you want to, but I want to make something for you. I think you'll love my cooking."

Katniss was surprised. Her training had prepared her to expect to cook most meals as an American wife.

"I'm a baker," Peeta continued, sensing her discomfort, "I opened up a little shop after…the leg," for the first time since she'd arrived he looked a little uncomfortable, but quickly breezed by it, "after I came back from the army for good, I got back to my old hobbies. My father is a baker and he gave me some lessons. We have a little shop in town. I work there most days."

A baker. Would she be expected to work in the shop? Would he bring home cakes and pastries? Katniss couldn't believe her good luck so far. Of all the awful strange lonely men she could have been married to, she'd gotten a warm, jolly, baker.

Katniss kept waiting for Peeta's awful side to come out, but he was a gentleman all through dinner. He served her a delicious lasagne with fresh homemade garlic bread and warm chocolate muffins for dessert. She had never felt so full and the food was far more luxurious than she was used to.

Peeta attempted to make conversation over dinner, but she kept her answers short. Both because she didn't trust her English and because he kept asking about her home and family, which pained her to speak about.

"Thank you for the dinner, I'm tired," she said eventually.

"Oh, of course, how rude of me, you've had such a big day," Peeta looked deeply concerned so she smiled to let him know she was okay.

"I'll wash these," Katniss rose from the table and started to take the dishes to the sink.

"No, no, I'll do it, it's no trouble," Peeta took the dishes from her hands and this time she was prepared for the warmth she felt when his large hands brushed hers.

"You head on up to bed, I'll be up in a while," he smiled over his shoulder, already filling the sink with bubbles.

Katniss wanted to protest that he'd made the food so she should clean up, but she'd make a stronger argument if she didn't have to use English. She also remembered her training. She'd been taught to expect to do most of the housework and cleaning. All marriages were different, and perhaps she was truly lucky in finding someone who'd divide the housework in an equal partnership, but Katniss didn't want to get comfortable with the idea yet, in case he surprised her tomorrow. She would rather not trust him at all than open up a little and be let down in the long run. He might be looking for a meaningful relationship but her marriage contract just meant she had to be civil.

Katniss lay in the dark huddled up on the far side of the enormous bed. She missed the feeling of Prim's body squashed up against hers, and trembled with anticipation for the moment when Peeta got into bed. She had no idea what to expect. He'd been very friendly, much friendlier than she'd expected, but perhaps that meant he'd expect her to be very friendly right away too. Training had prepared them that they might have to consummate their marriages as soon as the first night together. Or some marriages might never be consummated, depending on the needs and physical condition of their husband. The kinds of people who paid for marriages were usually very lonely and eager for sex or physically incapable of a normal relationship.

Katniss buried her face in the thick pillow, willing herself to fall asleep before he came up, but knowing her body wouldn't drop its alert. The pillow smelled like him, she noticed, as she breathed deeply to calm herself and pressed her face to it. She was glad he smelled pleasant. The marriage would be much harder if he didn't.

It must have been hours later when she heard the door creak open. She kept her eyes shut and her breathing even so that Peeta would think she was asleep. This might discourage him, he'd have to wake her up if he wanted sex and he seemed like a considerate person who might not want to wake her.

She heard rustling as Peeta changed into pyjamas. She had put on a long sleeved shirt and leggings for bed, not wanting to encourage him with anything skimpy. It had felt so good to wash off the thick layer of make-up and feel her own plain face again.

She felt Peeta come closer, his sweet warm smell surrounded her as she carefully regulated her breathing to seem asleep. She felt his face pass close to hers, felt the sensation of being looked at, and forced herself not to jump when she felt his thick fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

This is it, she thought. Now he'll wake me up and ask me…

"There you are," his voice was soft and quiet, as though no one was meant to hear it at all.

"There she is," he repeated again, "So much lovelier without all that make up."

Katniss felt the loss of his warm hand again immediately and felt him move away. She was stunned, not only at that he didn't wake her up for sex, but also at his refreshing opinion on make-up. What a relief that he preferred her without it. That was one thing she was happy to defer to him on, because she agreed.

The bathroom light clicked on and his footsteps tapped against the tiles, his false leg making a heavier footfall than the real one—though only a hunter would be able to tell the difference. Her stomach still clenched in anticipation, because he might be just waiting until he got into bed to wake her up.

She heard running water, a toothbrush, the click of the light turning off as he moved back to the bedroom. The bed sagged as he lowered himself on it, and she felt the warmth of his presence even across the great distance between them as he settled in.

Katniss thought she heard a whispered, "Goodnight," and then silence and stillness, just his soft breathing in the dark.

By the time she had the courage to open her eyes and look, he was curled up facing away from her, the covers pulled chastely around him. Katniss felt relief and just the smallest disappointment that perhaps the reason he hadn't tried anything was that he wasn't attracted to her. She realised as much as she longed for home, she would be disappointed if he sent her back. Because Peeta was as nice of a husband as she was likely to find. So far, he was even nicer and more considerate than Gale, who she'd been with voluntarily.

Katniss shivered, pulling the duvet up around her chin and scooted just a little across the bed until she could feel the soothing warmth of his body heat from across the mattress. Finally she relaxed enough to fall asleep.

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**A/N**: Thanks for reading! No idea when I'll update. Could be quite a while. Just couldn't get this plot bunny out of my head so I had to start it. Let me know your thoughts.


	2. Morning Glory

**A/N**: Thanks for the feedback! Switching to first person POV for Katniss. Hope that doesn't bother anyone. Just works better for description. Enjoy!

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I woke up screaming Prim's name.

The bedroom came into focus as I realised where I was, breathing heavily. I became aware of large flour-covered hands either side of my head, brushing my sweaty hair off my face.

"What's wrong, darling? What is it?" a worried male voice reached me through my haze of terror and I scooted across the bed away from him before I remembered he was my husband.

He quickly disguised his hurt that I'd pulled away from him.

"You had a a bad dream?" He frowned, much more concerned than Gale had ever been when I'd woken him up with a nightmare, even though I'd only known him a day. He seemed a sensitive type of person.

"My sister," I choked out, chest still heaving in panic.

"You must miss her," he frowned again, as though suddenly realising it.

"Yes," I wiped away tears, sniffing furiously. He disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a glass of cold water for me, his false leg clunking as he went.

"Do you want to call her?" he asked, handing me the phone. I stared at it like it was a foreign object.

"We don't have a phone," I said sadly. If only we did. It would be so wonderful to hear Prim's voice. To be able to talk to her every day would be a luxury beyond anything I could have imagined when I decided to come here.

"Or email her? Video chat?" Peeta continued. He seemed eager to find something that would make me feel better.

"I don't understand," my English wasn't terrible but these words were unfamiliar. Were there other ways to contact Prim I didn't know about?

"On the computer," Peeta pointed to his laptop in the corner of the bedroom. He opened it and pointed to the screen.

"You can see her here and talk to her live, like a phone call."

I gasped. The technology that existed in America was amazing. But no one in my town had a computer, only government officials, and a few merchants who owned successful businesses.

"We don't have this, computer," I pointed at it, even sadder. It broke my heart that such an amazing machine existed but we could never make use of it.

"We'll have to do something about that," Peeta looked determined. He grabbed a pad of paper and pen from the bedside table.

"Here, write down your address, and your parent's names. We'll fix them up with a phone and internet connection, so you can keep in touch."

His eyes smiled kindly and before I could stop myself I had flung my arms around his neck, clinging to him in gratitude I could barely express.

"Thank you," I buried my face in his neck where it met his shoulder. He smelled like whatever he was baking this morning when I started screaming, still covered in flour from his haste to get to me.

"Thank you, thank you," I said into his skin. I couldn't say it enough to express my gratitude. For the first time I seriously regretted my poor English because I couldn't articulate how much this meant to me.

He chuckled, surprised and a little winded by me launching myself at him. His strong floury arms wrapped around me and squeezed reassuringly. I could feel the happiness coming off him in waves. He was pleased to have found something that made me so happy.

I couldn't believe my luck. I could talk to Prim every day and see her lovely face on the computer screen. I would be able to make sure she was doing well. And if my mother had another episode and they got into trouble again, they could eat for a month by selling the computer. I couldn't believe my family were going to own a _computer_. As awful as it was to be in a foreign country with a near stranger, this marriage was already proving to be a sensible idea. I was so fortunate to get such a generous husband.

His eyes were full of kindness as I drew back from my embarrassing display of gratitude. He seemed so happy that he'd been able to do something I liked so much.

"We can't have you missing your family," he grinned, looking so young. He must be around my age. I'd expected him to be so much older. "I'd like to say hello too. Let them know I'm taking good care of you."

I wasn't sure how I felt about Peeta getting to know my family. I supposed they were his family too now but it felt very personal. Though if that's what it took for him to buy them a phone and a computer, I'd let him talk to them as much as he wanted. I still hadn't told him my father was dead. He'd find out soon enough.

"I should get going to the bakery," he said, gingerly raising a corner of his t shirt to wipe off a patch of flour that had smudged on my forehead. He did it cautiously, as though he expected me to flinch away at any moment.

I felt a little uncomfortable but I let him, keeping my eyes fixed on the wall of abdominal muscle revealed under the lifted corner of his t shirt. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't notice me staring. He had been in the army, I shouldn't be so surprised by his muscles. His touch on my forehead was impossibly gentle for someone with such large hands. I couldn't help that I was starting to trust him, even though I tried to be wary. I had prepared for a mean husband, a cruel one, a boring one, but I hadn't considered he might be disarmingly sincere.

"I wanted to wait until you were awake," he continued, "So you wouldn't be worried if you woke up alone," he smiled, "Usually I'm at the bakery before dawn."

So considerate to wait for me so I wouldn't be frightened in the strange house. Would he always be this careful with me? It was such a new feeling I wasn't sure if I liked it or was unnerved by it. If it were Gale he would have just left a note. I hoped Peeta wouldn't be in trouble for missing work on my account, but hadn't he said he owned the bakery? Did that mean he made his own rules? The luxuries here seemed to never end.

"When I come back I'll show you how to use the computer. We can find you a good English class," he hesitated, "If you'd like to learn, I mean.."

"Yes," I assured him quickly, "Yes, thank you. I would like to learn. I will improve my English," It would remove my huge disadvantage if I could understand everything that was going on and articulate things when I needed to.

"Great!" he seemed very pleased, clapping his hands together cheerfully. "And if you want to, you can come visit the bakery. My family can't wait to meet you," he blushed, "Well, they're your family now too.."

This made me uncomfortable, I didn't know these people at all, even if they were as nice as Peeta had been so far. But I smiled, because it seemed important to him, and he'd been so good to me already this morning, he deserved enthusiasm from his wife.

He paused in the doorway, looking at me intently. I wondered if there was more flour on my face that he'd missed.

"I can't believe you're really here," his voice was soft and awed.

My stomach jumped at how valuable I sounded in his hushed whisper. He padded back across the bedroom carpet to drop a kiss on the top of my head before he left.

"There are fresh croissants downstairs for breakfast," I could swear he smelled my hair before he pulled away.

That explained the flour. I'd never seen a croissant in person, only in films.

"Have a good morning. See you later!" with the smile he gave me as he left, it was hard to believe it wouldn't be a good morning.

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**A/N**: Wasn't as long as I thought before this Chapter! Can't guarantee when the next one will be, but glad you're enjoying it. Let me know if you have any thoughts!


	3. Shooting Apples

**A/N**: Thanks for the feedback, glad you are enjoying! A few interesting things in the comments I'll answer for everyone:

**Where is Katniss from?** _Russia or a similar Eastern European country, like Belarus or Ukraine. But a slightly fictional version. A small village similar to District 12, surrounded by forest, with a Seam, a merchant class, and strict dictatorship law enforcement equivalent to the Peacekeepers. It's touched on but may not have been clear that right before the story began, the law became stricter which was why she couldn't continue to hunt and chose to marry an American as a last resort for survival. Imagine a fictional version of a Soviet Union type government in present day Eastern Europe._

**The M rating?** _We'll get there, but not immediately. Katniss certainly isn't in a place to want sex at this point in the story and you know Peeta - he's a gentleman! I chose the M rating from the beginning to be safe due to the subject matter._

**To anonymous reviewer, Katherine:** _PLEASE DO WRITE A 50's VERSION. I'd love to read it. I love Katniss/Peeta AUs and wish there were more. The main reason I wrote this was because I wished someone else had. I wonder if I should have set it before 1990 to be able to use the Soviet Union. Although I don't know enough about it to write a romantic communist political thriller. Though I do love Jack/Irina pre-Sydney Alias fanfic which does that. I totally encourage anyone with interest to write that for Katniss/Peeta - would love to read it._

**To for-prim:** _Awesome. I am more than open to advice about specifics and appreciate input for authenticity and to make sure it's done respectfully. I don't have a wealth of knowledge on the subject at all, I just find the dynamic intriguing. __I don't know enough to do justice to specific details about Eastern Europe, so I'm keeping Katniss' background intentionally vague, but I welcome well-informed suggestions or input from anyone who is familiar._ I'm intentionally sticking to mostly canon descriptions of her home that could be applicable in Eastern Europe like the forest and the Seam. Please PM me if there are any particular things you want to advise on.

**To everyone who reviewed:**_ Thank you! Much appreciated! I'm glad you're enjoying it. Your comments make me really happy so thanks for taking the time to write them. :)_

Let's continue!

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While Peeta was at the bakery, I explored the house. There were almost as many rooms in it as there were houses in the Seam.

I found the croissants, set out on a plate on the kitchen counter. They crumbled when I bit into them. The mess of flakes was worth it because they tasted buttery and delicious. I finished all six on the plate, wondering if that was Peeta's intention or if I was already overstepping my boundaries. I've only tasted real butter a few times in my life, and the flavor of the buttery bread was so rich it almost oozed out of the crumbly pastry.

I showered before Peeta returned, nearly falling on my face when I jumped in surprise at the jets that exploded with warm water more powerfully than I was expecting. The intense shower left me feeling relaxed, my nightmare washed away, and I braided my hair while it dried. I had no shampoo or shower products so I'd used Peeta's. Now I smelt like a mix of myself and him. I could smell his scent on my skin.

I didn't bother with the make-up Effie Trinket from the Agency had left me. After Peeta's comments it seemed he didn't like it any more than I did. His soft low voice whispering "_There she is_," was clear in my memory as if he were standing right next to me. As I replayed it, the croissants in my stomach flipped over. Probably with joy at doing away with the stupid uncomfortable make-up.

Peeta found me that afternoon folding away my clothes into our shared wardrobe. His side was far neater than I would be able to keep mine. He was sweaty from the summer humidity and still wearing a bakery apron.

My husband greeted me with a jam donut, wrapping his arms around me from behind and kissing the side of my head as he slipped it into my hand.

I almost dropped it. It made me jump, even though with hunter's hearing I'd heard him coming up behind me, even if I hadn't have seen his smiling reflection in the wardrobe mirror. I just didn't expect he'd put his arms around me.

"How was your morning, my beautiful wife?" he asked, enjoying the question as he said it. It seemed like he was playing at the idea of returning home to his wife, like a little boy playing house.

I concentrated on the donut, and tried to seem grateful for it. I didn't want him to feel like I don't want him to hold me. Or that I was unhappy to see him. Surely no husband wants that.

And I wasn't. Just surprised.

I was surprised again when I bit into the donut and it exploded sweet jam into my mouth. Peeta laughed and swiped some from the corner of my mouth with his finger. I tasted sugar where his finger brushed.

"Ready for a computer lesson?" he asked.

I nodded eagerly, mumbling,"Yes," around a mouthful of donut. If this computer would show me Prim, I wanted to learn as much about it as possible.

He hung his dirty apron on the back of the bedroom door and sat down on the bed, patting the duvet to indicate I should join him. He opened up the computer and settled me between his legs, so we could both see the screen easily. It wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, the solid warmth of him behind me felt very nice, but it was too intimate. Like something a husband and wife would do.

I'm sure Peeta would let me move if I asked to sit in a different position, he wouldn't want me to feel uncomfortable. But it seemed a cruel thing to deny a husband this closeness. While he was holding back on asking for sex, I could consent to give him this.

Peeta taught me all the amazing functions of the computer. More than once I caught him inhaling the smell of my damp hair. He seemed fascinated with my braid. I'd never given it a second thought. Peeta was very patient, laughing and soothing my temper even when I hit the screen in frustration. I learned how to start a computer, how to type on it, how to take a photo or a video on the camera in it, how to translate words and sentences into English on it, and how to look for things on the internet in a box on the screen called a search window.

"A window to see all the world," I smiled at him, "I can see Prim through this window."

I was overjoyed and it was clear how much he loved it.

"Tell me about your sister," he smiled easily, tucking a loose strand back into my braid.

But I did stiffen up at this, moving from between his legs to sit across the bed. We'd finished learning the computer anyway. A little while ago Peeta had started trying to make conversation. Sometimes I couldn't answer him because I didn't have the English words. Most of the time I didn't want to answer him.

"She's younger," I said, almost stopping at that.

"She is everything good. Kind, sweet, gentle. She heals," I didn't know the right way to explain that in English.

"She looks like our mother."

Peeta nodded and smiled warmly, drinking in my personal details like they were fascinating. His life must have been much more interesting but he couldn't get enough pieces of information about me.

"Tell me about your mother," he grinned, and I became even more uncomfortable.

"Blonde. Not like me," I held up the end of my braid.

"She heals too. Sometimes," I added.

"And your father?" Peeta had no idea what he was asking.

I felt a choke in my throat and shook my head. I couldn't tell him that.

"So you don't want to talk about your family?" he finally guessed, frowning.

I shook my head.

"What about you then?" he was determined to get to know me.

"Tell me about you."

I frowned, trying to think of something to say. What did he want to hear about me?

"What do you like?" he suggested, with that same hopeful smile.

"Green," I said the first thing that came to mind. Keep it light.

"Green?" His face was cute when he was confused. I was instantly shocked at myself for that thought.

"Color green," I said, cringing at my English.

"It's your favorite colour?" he supplied. I nodded.

"Like the trees. At home. Many trees…"

I reached for the computer and typed in trees, searching until I found the word I needed.

"Forest," I sounded out, satisfied, "Green like my forest."

Peeta seemed very pleased to know this detail. It was absurdly easy to please him by doing the tiniest thing. I had prepared myself to work hard at pleasing my husband, but he asked so little from me, and was so content with it.

"What else?" he pressed, excited at the progress, "What do you love?"

"Prim," I said without thinking.

"Prim? Is that a person?" he asked. I nodded reluctantly, angry at myself for bringing her up again, even by accident.

"Your sister?" he guessed.

"Yes," I said, hoping I conveyed some finality, that I didn't want to talk about her.

"Of course you love your sister," he smiled, and I felt silly. Did I misunderstand the question?

"I meant what do you love to do? I love to bake and paint and draw and listen to music. What do you love?"

I didn't know the word for it, but I wanted to give him the answer, knowing how much he cared about these inconsequential details.

"I don't know in English," I explained. "This," I mimed drawing back a bow, firing an arrow.

"Archery?" he asked.

"Archery..." I tried the word out. I had no idea if it was the right one.

"We'll have to get you a bow and arrow. There are woods nearby, you'll have plenty of space to practice," he dragged the computer over eagerly, opening an internet window. I realised what he was doing when a site popped up with pictures of bows and arrows and prices next to them.

"I have," I told him, "In my bag."

I still couldn't believe it had passed through customs. It brought me great comfort, knowing my father's bow was with me.

"You do?" Peeta was very excited. "Can I see it?"

The bow was personal, but I couldn't refuse him when his eyes shone like that. When he asked so little and it made him so happy.

I took the bow out of my suitcase carefully, cringing as I held it out to him. If those large hands were clumsy and he broke it, I couldn't promise I wouldn't attack him for it.

He made no move to take the bow.

"Can you show me?" he asked, "Show me how you use it?"

I grinned. I was more than happy to do this for him.

"I need target," I said, hoping my grammar was clear enough that he understood. It must have been because he led me downstairs to the garden and pointed to an apple tree.

"How's this?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes," I nodded. I looked at him, indicating he should step back and after a moment he picked up on my meaning.

I drew my father's bow, breathing deeply, relishing in the familiar feel of it, focussing on my target-an apple-and feeling more at home than I had since I arrived in America. I breathed with my release, letting the arrow fly. It sailed beautifully through the air and spiked the apple dead center, as Peeta gasped in admiration behind me. I turned grinning proudly to see his eyes wide with surprised awe.

"You're amazing," he almost whispered.

"Lots practice," I didn't want to play it coy, I was enjoying the moment, but pride was ugly on anyone, let alone a person's new spouse.

"You must have been shooting for years," he was still amazed, jogging over to retrieve the apple, just a little lopsided on his false leg.

"Yes," my smile stretched wide on my face. I was surprised how nice it felt to smile so much with him. Every smile I gave him he always sent right back, doubled in size.

"Did you ever compete professionally?" he asked. He could tell by my eyebrows I didn't understand the question.

"For sport?" he clarified, pointing to the bow.

I shook my head.

"For food," I answered, embarrassed to say it to a baker, who had probably never felt hungry in his life. Now I was a baker's wife. But my words rang in the air and I still felt like a starving girl from the Seam.

"Oh..." Peeta said quietly, realisation settling upon him like lead. Suddenly the great chasm of difference between us was palpable.

"You must think I'm crazy," he looked abashed.

How was it possible that I had said something shameful and he was the one who felt bad about it? My discomfort grew.

Then I realised he was talking about our marriage. I was surprised and intrigued. He hadn't mentioned yet why he'd chosen to purchase a mail-order bride, nor why he'd paid so much for me in particular. I'd assumed he'd tell me if he ever wanted me to know.

"It must seem so silly to you, to buy a wife. So frivolous, impractical...so pathetic..." he was blushing, clearly as uncomfortable as I was. His eyes traced the ground.

"I never thought I'd be the kind of person who'd do it," he laughed at something I must have missed.

"You know about my leg?" he looked at me, seeking confirmation, then quickly away again.

They'd told me he lost a leg in the war. They said I should make him feel better about it by asking for his help with simple things and affectionately admiring other things about him. They told me even though they knew I wouldn't do it. Now I've met him I'm glad they were wrong. He wouldn't want that. He'd see right through it if I did that.

When Haymitch told me he only had one leg I had thought it might disgust me. So far I've barely noticed. It doesn't fit to think of Peeta as crippled when his spirit is so strong.

"After that the ladies weren't exactly lining up around the block, but I still did okay," his tone turned a little playful, "I'm quite a catch, you know. I hope you understand you bagged a great husband."

He must know I was barely following the English colloquialisms, but I could sense he was joking as he nudged his shoulder against mine and then he could meet my eyes again.

"I didn't mean to get involved with anything like this, it was an accident when I saw you," his tone was changing again, he was getting serious. I knew enough to pick up from his words and the way his eyes lingered on me that this was about why he chose me.

"I just clicked on a link one day. I was in a sulky mood. A girl, Delly, had just turned me down for a date and my pride was wounded. She was sweet about it to my face - I've known her for years - she had a crush on me in high school - but I heard her say something to her friends about being grossed out...not wanting to touch it..." even the tips of Peeta's ears were red. His anguish was palpable.

"Anyway, I was in a bad mood and I typed in something, I don't even remember, something like girls who don't mind if you only have one leg," he mumbled.

"Most of them were dating sites...then there was one...'are you looking for a loving loyal wife?'...it had a picture of this beautiful smiling girl marrying a guy in a wheelchair...I clicked on the site out of morbid curiosity and there you were," the awe was back in his voice, as though he was watching me make the apple shot again.

"I can't even tell you what it was. It wasn't just that you were beautiful," I recognised that word, "It was just...something about you. Something completely you that I just couldn't forget," he was blushing again.

"I bookmarked your video and came back to it every day for a month," he winced, "...I'm sorry, I know that sounds strange. I do think about you that way of course, but I would never...unless you wanted to..." he trailed off, even more embarrassed than before, and perhaps seeing by my expression that he'd lost me in the stream of English. I nodded encouragingly and this seemed to content him.

"I just had to meet you. I didn't really think about the whole marriage part, I didn't care about my leg or Delly or anything practical, I just knew I had to...know you. I hoped if I could get you here and meet you and talk to you and find out more about you, maybe we'd...I should have imagined what your life was like. The site, I know it must be exaggerated, but they make it seem like the girls, all of you, are so happy to be on there, that you all really want to go to America and meet a nice man...I thought you were looking for someone, like I was. But now I think you were just trying to survive...How hungry must you have been to come all the way here for a romantic chump with one leg who fell in love with a girl in a video?..." Peeta made a sound like laughter but I saw tears fill up his eyes.

"I bet you don't want to be here at all...this wasn't important to you - how could it have been when you were trying to survive? You only came here...for food..." he trailed off and looked so, so deeply sad. Like the light I so admired inside him had been crushed by giant hands.

My heart clenched to see the cheerful boy so heartbroken. I didn't catch enough of what he said to know for sure, but I heard the words "survive" and my own words "for food" repeated and I thought perhaps he might be realising why I came here. His sadness might be for me, not himself. I felt a rush of affection and squeezed his hand. His agonized blue eyes looked deep into mine, searching for something, and I held his gaze, wondering how I could make his eyes smile again.

"If you want to go home, you can. I can help you, your family...if that's the only reason..."

These words were simple; I understood these. I started to panic. He wanted to send me home? Does he think I don't want to be his wife? Have I been so awful that I've made him think that? I knew I wasn't giving my best dutiful wife performance, but he'd seemed so happy until now.

Even if he was willing to help my family in the future, I didn't want to leave him like this. It didn't feel right to end a marriage this way. Not honorable when he was so good, to leave him alone and make this charity. If I stayed with him and made him happy, that was fair payment for his kindness. The things he asked of me weren't hard to give.

As I thought about how easy and pleasant life had been with Peeta since I arrived, I realised with some shock that as much as I pined for it, I certainly wouldn't be better off at home. Even if Peeta sent something to help pay for food, or a computer and telephone, the days would drag by. I'd be as miserable as I'd grown up. Prim and the forest and sometimes Gale might be the only good things I'd ever know in my life. No jam donuts, no croissants, no enormous soft beds with pillows that smelled like my husband, no one waiting home from work to make sure I woke up comfortably, no warm showers or warm baker's hands or eyes that smiled with kindness.

Maybe I'd marry Gale, if he learned to hold his temper for long enough and keep his pants on around other women. We might have children; more mouths to feed. I'd never get an education, or have a chance for a brighter future. If I was lucky I'd manage to continue surviving. In America I could learn English, get a job, one day save enough to send Prim to university to become a doctor. The only good thing about going home would be getting to be with her, but even if it made her happy at the time, that wouldn't do her any good for her future.

And I didn't want to admit it, but I had gotten used to Peeta very quickly. I already felt that if his presence disappeared, I'd miss it. Not exactly miss him, not yet when I hardly knew him, but something would be wrong without his calm, warm, soothing presence in my life. How quickly I'd gotten used to the secure feeling of having a good husband.

"I'm not an idiot, I didn't expect you to love me right away..." Peeta was still holding my hand, tracing my fingers as he talked sadly about things I only half understood.

"I just hoped in time you'd at least grow to like me."

A happy feeling shot up inside me because I realised what I needed to say to make him feel better.

"I like you," I said urgently, squeezing his hand. He looked at me in surprise, hesitantly, his eyes already lighting up a little beyond his control. So I said it again.

"Not in time. Now, I like you," I needed to make sure he understood that I wanted to be here. I was choosing to stay.

"I'm your wife, and I like you," before I understood what I was doing, my face was moving towards his. His eyes widened in surprise, but I veered away from his full lips and pecked lightly at his cheek. Nothing much, but like everything else I've given him, the small thing made him so very happy.

He touched the place on his cheek where my lips brushed, then touched my cheek as carefully as I handle my bow. I was glad to see the shine back in his kind blue eyes. His sadness about my life was gone and I regretted ever bringing it up. I hoped this wouldn't stop him sending my mother and Prim a telephone and a computer.

Before things could get too heavy again, I let go of his hand and loaded an arrow into my bow, aiming at a higher apple, this one partially obscured by a branch, making it a tricky shot.

Peeta cried out in triumph and applauded proudly when I made the shot dead on. We stayed out in the garden shooting apples until the summer night got dark.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh, look. I updated sooner than I thought again! Really inspired by your reviews. It's nice there's so much interest. Can't make any promises about when the next update will be, but I'm enjoying this world in my head. If you're reading, let me know what you think!


	4. Soldiers Closer Than Spouses

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the reviews, comments and messages. I'm happy you're all enjoying the story so much and really appreciate you taking the time to leave feedback.

Sorry for the long wait. I have said on every chapter that there are no guarantees when I'll update. It could be a few weeks, like this one, or I manage a couple chapters in a few days, like the previous three chapters. I have an outline of where the story is going but I don't have anything prewritten - if I did I'd share it all at once, like my super long one shot _Slow and Steady Wins The Race_ - so updates will come when I have time to sit down and write them.

This chapter is extra long, so I hope that makes up for the wait.

I have been very encouraged by your comments and I really appreciate the enthusiasm for this story, it does remind me to keep writing. I am definitely listening to your feedback. And I do sympathize because there are plenty of stories _I'm_ eagerly awaiting updates for, so I know how it feels.

If you're looking for great AUs to read between updates, I highly recommend the stories on my Favs list, especially the ones highlighted in my profile. Top recs currently are Stories of Us, Blood & Stone, Strung Up In The Air, Pay You In Berries, Under My Skin, Two Wrongs, Knot Your Fingers Through Mine and Notorious.

I'm sorry I didn't send out personal responses for last chapter's reviews. I figured you'd rather I spent the time getting this chapter finished ;) If you have any questions I haven't answered, feel free to ask them. And thank you so much again for your interest and support – it means a lot!

Here we go...

* * *

I laughed out loud for the first time in America when Peeta tripped over the doorstep in the dark on the way into the house.

I gasped and put my hand over my mouth to keep the laugh in. I didn't mean to laugh at him, it was just funny. I would never want to upset or embarrass him by laughing at his leg.

He was smiling, though. He seemed to care more that I had laughed than about the thing that made it happen.

As we crossed the dark kitchen, he tripped again on purpose. I knew he intended it because he grinned up at me as he stumbled. It was such a sweet thing to do I couldn't not reward it with another laugh, though I held onto his arm to steady him up the dark stairs. I didn't want him falling any more on my account.

It was unusual spending time around a man who didn't mind looking foolish. Who put my laughter before his pride and comfort. Men didn't act like this in my District.

Gale would have gotten huffy and embarrassed if he had tripped in front of me. Or tried to trip _me_ to make it even.

Peeta revealed strength in being so resilient to embarrassment. It was unexpected. It surprised me how masculine I found it.

Peeta showed me the cream I needed for the mosquito bites and helped me rub it into the back of my calf, where I couldn't reach easily. His huge palm was almost the size of my lower leg, thumb to pinky. I felt every brush of the pads of his fingers against my calf as they massaged the cool cream in.

He had bites too. He said it was normal if you stayed out after dark in summer here. Especially because I worked up a sweat with my bow.

I showered again before bed, to rinse away the clammy sweat. After my shower the thick bedroom carpet was even softer under clean feet and my husband was sat on the bed in his pyjamas waiting.

Was he waiting for me? We had a nice night. I felt closer to him after talking in the garden. It seemed like he understood my reasons for marrying him, and that I was happy enough to not want to leave.

But did getting closer mean he thought I wanted…husband and wife things? In bed?

He didn't disgust me. He had a nice body, even with the leg, and beautiful eyes and strong hands and a kind heart. He had been gentle and considerate so far. His moods had been steady and pleasant. He was financially secure and comforting to sleep next to. He was as fine a man as a woman could hope for as a husband. If he wanted to do it now, I could probably bring myself to pretend I was enjoying it. I knew it would mean a lot to him and I wouldn't want him to be sad.

But if I had the choice, I didn't want to do any of that yet. It took me long enough to open up to Gale in that way and though this man was legally my husband, I was only beginning to know him.

He looked up when he saw me, making a valiant effort to hide the widening of his eyes at me wrapped in a towel.

My husband looked like he was about to say something.

I waited for it.

But then instead he handed me the pyjamas I'd put on the bed—long sleeves again.

I nodded thank you and went back to the bathroom to change. I braided my wet hair again, so it wouldn't tangle in the night.

Peeta was still perched on the edge of the bed when I came back, growing increasingly awkward, picking at a thread in his flannel pyjamas.

I knew he had something to say. My stomach clenched at what it might be. I decided to stand there and watch him until he came out with it.

"I can sleep somewhere else, if you want," he was looking at his hands. Such large hands.

"After we talked about…I don't want you to have to…"

"Sleep here," it came out before I even thought about it. When I heard it come out of me, I was glad I said it.

He was even more considerate than I'd thought for giving me the choice. I couldn't believe my luck. What were the chances I'd get such a kind husband, so open to my preferences?

But when the choice had been presented I found I didn't want to be without him.

It surprised me. I love my independence. But it had been the warmth of his body my first night that had finally been the thing to relax me enough to sleep. I was alone in a foreign country with no idea what lay ahead for me. There was no point giving up sleeping beside a husband who was so comforting to sleep with.

As long as he didn't misinterpret my enthusiasm...

"OK. I'll sleep here," Peeta was smiling happily. It took so very little to provoke that contented adoring look.

"With me," I nodded and smiled back at him. It was hard not to. I calmed myself because it felt strange to feel so frivolous.

I got into bed but Peeta was hesitant,

"You don't have to pretend," he reached over as if to take my hand and then changed his mind and withdrew.

"Not pretend," I shook my head quickly. He smiled wider, more convinced.

His hand reached back over towards me but I jumped away. I regretted it as soon as I did because regret and embarrassment appeared in his lovely blue eyes.

"Just sleep, not…other bed things," I said quietly, hoping my intentions were clear, without seeming cold. I watched his face for further disappointment.

I wished I could rewind and just give his hand a friendly squeeze instead of getting jumpy and upsetting him. I was a terrible wife.

"OK," he stared at his hands again, as though willing them to behave. He looked up at me through his eyebrows with a sheepish smile and I wanted to tell him he had nothing to be sorry for.

He scooted further away from me, snuggling under the covers in a way that made me wish he was over on my side of the bed.

I didn't have to worry about him keeping his hands to himself because before I'd even put my head down, he'd curled up on his side, mumbling "Goodnight, Katniss," into his pillow.

Jet lag had caught up with me and I was wide-awake.

I lay on my side in the dark watching him. I don't know why I was so interested, but it was a good chance to observe him without his eyes following me, making me feel self-conscious. His strong jaw clenched a little in his sleep, his blonde eyelashes dusted his cheeks, and there were light freckles on his nose I hadn't seen before.

His eyes blinked open, as if sensing my appraisal.

I jumped in surprise and quickly shut my eyes, not wanting to be caught looking at him.

I didn't know if I'd closed my eyes in time and cracked one open a little to check.

His blue eyes were looking at me in the dark. He had caught me. He smiled, and closed his eyes again. The smile still lingered on his chunky lips.

He was so trusting. I wouldn't have been able to sleep if it had been him staring at me that way.

I watched him for a long time, seeing his breathing even out and the clench of his jaw loosen, watching his eyelashes flutter against his skin in sleep, feeling lulled by the solidness of him, until my own eyes closed.

I jerked awake with a start when I felt a heavy arm around my waist. Blinking quickly to get my bearings, I remembered I was married and in bed with my husband in America. A glance behind me quickly confirmed it was his arm draping across my stomach, as his warmth surrounded me from behind like a giant heater.

Before I could be angry at him for sneaking past my boundaries while I was asleep, I realised that it was _me _who'd moved to his side of the bed. He could never have reached me from across the mattress, and he hadn't moved from the spot he curled up in earlier, except to cuddle up to me when I'd moved closer.

My whole body burned with embarrassment in the dark. What had I been thinking in my sleep? I needed to keep better control over myself, or he couldn't be blamed for assuming I was open to initiations.

Even as I chastized myself, I couldn't find the energy to wriggle out of his loose hold.

I shifted just an inch to get more comfortable and Peeta shifted too, using his arm around me to pull my back closer against his broad chest. I tensed for escape, thinking he might be awake, but he just pressed his face into my neck next to my damp braid and mumbled something that sounded like, "_Mmm, this is a nice dream_."

It made a shiver go through me. That just made him pull me even closer, his large hand stroking across my stomach absently.

The steady warmth of his breath on my neck and the calm thump of his heart against my back lulled me back to sleep before I could form any more thoughts.

His voice was very close to my ear and the room was glowing orange with the dawn when he whispered.

"Katniss, I've got to get up for work. Be home at lunch," his breath was hotter in my ear than it had been on my neck.

I felt his lips brush my lobe more than once as he whispered it into my ear. The tingling sensation almost made my eyes open. But I was still tired so I let it dance on my skin precariously and snuggled further into the pillows that smelled of him, lamenting the loss of his warmth in the air conditioned bedroom as I listened to him fumble and crash around, dressing in the dark.

As he closed the bedroom door softly behind him, I thought I might have heard him say something like, _"Sweet dreams, my archer Goddess"_ but it seemed so ridiculous I knew I must have misunderstood the English or dreamed it.

I woke up a few hours later to sun streaming through the closed curtains so brightly it seemed like they were open.

I stretched like a cat and enjoyed spreading my limbs out on the huge bed. For the first time in this bed I didn't miss being squashed up against Prim on our twin mattress.

I sighed contentedly into the stretch, wondering if there was a treat waiting for me downstairs again.

I still wasn't completely used to the luxurious shine of the kitchen tiles and being surrounded by all the huge appliances, but I was learning to correctly predict my husband's kindness.

The pastries sat on the kitchen counter were similar to the croissants from yesterday but rectangular instead of half-moon shaped and filled with gooey melted chocolate that inspired me to describe something as "heavenly" for the first time in my life.

I had yet to be reprimanded about the croissants, so I ate all six again, wiping the last smudge of melted chocolate off the plate and sucking it off my finger.

I'll be a fat baker's wife yet.

The day was hot, I knew, even though the house blasted cool air through vents in the ceiling. I could feel the clammy outside summer air press against the windows.

A giddy feeling of excitement came over me and I decided to go for a walk. I would find Peeta's bakery, my bakery too now, and surprise my husband with a visit.

Every part of the thought was luxurious and frivolous. It sounded like another woman's life. My stomach tingled with anticipation, but I wasn't sure what of.

I don't do well going for days without asserting my independence, so a walk around an unknown town would do my spirit good.

I imagined Peeta's face when I would walk into the shop and almost laughed out loud with excitement at how delighted he would be. I pictured his eyes lighting up when he saw me as I laced up my boots.

The walk was hot, with sticky humid air and I immediately wished I'd brought water, but didn't remember how to get back into the house from outside.

I wasn't above scaling the wall and climbing in a window but it was less trouble to just wait until I reached the town.

There were lots of trees on the walk to town. I followed a stray cat because there were several roads and I didn't know the way. I turned off the road and ran through the forest for a while, singing to myself and feeling properly alive again.

After some minutes of walking, I climbed a tree to get my bearings, glad the Agency had let me bring me own practical clothes as well as the high heels and skirts they gave me, and even gladder that my husband was happy for me to wear what I wanted.

I climbed a few more trees for direction into town, until I could see the rows of buildings marking the main street from the road.

I was glad it was a small town, like my home District. I'd heard horror stories at the Agency of girls being married to men in huge bustling cities, living in tiny apartments with no gardens and no forests for miles. I doubted I would last long in a place like that, even with a husband as nice as Peeta.

I pretended I was still in the forest as I entered the town's main street. Every person who passed was a wild creature to me and I stalked by stealthily, taking note of the new environment.

It didn't take long to find the bakery because the sweet smell of bread cooking reached the air from blocks away and drew me to it.

I hid across the street next to a flower stand admiring the neat blue and white banner letters displaying, "_MELLARK'S_". My new last name. I was Mrs Mellark. I could eat half of everything in that shop if I wanted to. This was my bakery. No one in my family had ever owned something so important, even through marriage. Not since my mother's parents disowned her.

I looked through the big glass window into the shop and saw my husband hard at work. I smiled, watching him emerge from a downstairs room and lug a huge sack of flour stacked across his broad shoulders into the back of the shop. He huffed a little and tossed his hair out of his eyes the same way the wind did when we were outside last night.

I took a deep breath and crossed the street. The bell tinkled above the blue door when I pushed it open.

Peeta had returned to the counter and the top of his blonde head greeted me as he scribbled in a red notebook next to the register.

"Good morning, how can I…" Peeta looked up with a pleasant smile, which broke into a wide grin when he saw me. The sparkle of delight in his eyes was just like I imagined it would be. This pleased me.

"Hello honey!" he couldn't possibly be more delighted if his missing leg had walked in and reattached itself.

"Surprise," I smiled. It was impossible not to smile back.

"I surprise you," I declared. I hadn't thought what I'd do beyond coming here.

"You certainly did," he chuckled, "Did you walk down?"

I nodded.

He whistled.

"Impressive," more smiles for me. I wished I could collect them all up and take some home for Prim.

I sat on the counter and watched him frost cakes, because that's what he had planned to do next. His big hands were not as clumsy as I'd assumed when I feared for my bow. Painter's hands. Artist's hands. Musician's hands. Like my father's. I wondered if he played an instrument.

Peeta offered me the frosting tube encouragingly at least five times. I didn't want to try today but I thought I might tomorrow. It was nice watching him do it. His concentration was so peaceful.

I was so lulled by his peaceful presence all day that he seemed like a different man later that night in our kitchen.

A summer storm had started crashing around in the sky, and the thunder seemed to put my husband on the edge of his nerves.

He was jumpy and short with me and not at all like the man he'd been since I arrived.

Though I didn't like it, this was the kind of husband I had been expecting. Maybe this was his true nature and the other behavior had been a trick to lure me in. It made sense, but I couldn't bring myself to believe that. Something about it didn't seem right.

Peeta was cooking our dinner when a very big roll of thunder crashed above us at the same time as a long flash of lightening. He jumped, terror on his face, and his hand flipped the pan it was holding, sending boiling water splashing across the kitchen.

"Oh no! I'll help," I got up from my seat at the kitchen table and bent to wipe up the water with a dishcloth.

"No," Peeta's voice was low and menacing and I looked up in surprise. His face hovered above me twisted into a grimace.

His large hands gripped my arms roughly and he was forcing me to my feet and pushing me out of the kitchen before I realised what was happening.

"Get out, you need to get out," he ground out through gritted teeth.

His eyes were haunted, focussed on things I couldn't see, and every muscle in his body was tensing. He pushed me frantically, as though trying to save me from danger. His false leg creaked with the effort and suddenly I realised what was happening.

I suddenly knew, like an instinct, that this was from the army. The peacekeeping force in our town was brutal and I'd seen survivors of battles and torture before.

I gripped the doorframe, not wanting to leave him in this state but he heaved his whole weight against me, shoving me out and slamming the door.

"Go upstairs! Please!" he shouted through the door.

"You can't be near me now," the anguish in his voice cut through me.

I ran upstairs to hide as he had asked. But as soon as I got to the upstairs hallway I turned around and snuck down to the banister, watching through the stair rail and the gap of the kitchen door, which had sprung back open from the force he used to slam it.

He was bent over the kitchen counter, gripping the cold marble tightly, his face contorted in pain, eyes squeezed shut, making grunting noises as though he was trying to push away something I couldn't see. He thrashed with himself, fighting invisible demons that seemed to grow with every crash of thunder.

He had sent me away, but it wasn't his fault he'd underestimated me. He didn't know me yet. He didn't know I was brave. Especially for people I cared about.

I hadn't suspected he'd be working his way into that category in my mind; people I'd be brave for. His position as my husband was just an official contract. But there was no time to wonder why I cared about him enough to risk my safety. I was not going to leave him alone when he needed me.

I wasn't frightened of him, I was frightened for him.

I eased down the stairs with a level of stealth I reserved for prize venison. He didn't even hear me open the kitchen door and gasped when I took his hands, easing them away from the cold marble countertop.

"You're safe," was the first thing I could think of to say.

"Just thunder. I'm with you."

His eyes were wild when they opened and stared at me like I was an apparition. He glanced at the stairs like he was wondering if the real me was still hiding up there where he'd sent me.

His hands were hard as stones and icy cold, clenched into fists as though they still gripped the marble. I held them between mine, rubbing to get his blood flowing, to ease the tension.

His eyes were glued to me in wonder. The rest of his face struggled and contorted; fighting against the invisible monsters.

I left his softening hands and stroked the sweaty hair back from his forehead.

"You can't be here," he ground out.

I shook my head, dismissing it.

"You're okay," I told him, making my voice as soft as I could manage. I knew I came across hard and unaffectionate by nature, but I tried to imagine he was Prim, tried to pour honey into my voice.

"You're okay," I repeated, rubbing his back and he sobbed a little, leaning into me.

"You're okay, you're okay, you're okay" I told him softly over and over, his breathing getting shakier and heavier until the invisible beast we were fighting crashed down on top of him and his good leg gave way. I stumbled under the weight of him but caught him as he slumped into my arms.

He was sweaty and disgusting but my heart swelled for him in a way I'd never experienced before. I couldn't put a name to it, but it thumped loudly when he raised his weary head to stare at me, eyes still wide with wonder. Maybe it was relief that he was fine. Or pride that I'd looked after him. Perhaps I wouldn't be completely useless as a wife after all.

"See, you're okay," I smoothed back his hair again, and it stubbornly flopped straight back over his forehead.

"Katniss," his voice cracked, his eyes focussing on me hazily, "...you're real."

He really thought he was imagining me. I wondered what else he'd seen in his head.

"I'm real," I nodded.

We looked at each other. He breathed like he'd run a marathon.

It felt like great intimacy had passed between us. More intimate than our little smiles and touches so far, and a lot more than being married to each other. I wasn't sure what to say or do next.

"You really do like me" he seemed surprised. "You must have, you stayed with me," his voice was full of tenderness that I hadn't heard in a man's voice since my father died.

I was happy he believed it. I wasn't a liar. I meant it when I'd said I liked him. He was easy to like.

He seemed about to pass out. I couldn't get him upstairs by myself, but we made it to the enormous sofa in the living room.

He took deep breaths as we collapsed onto it. I tried to move away to give him space to breathe, but he clung to me so urgently that I didn't protest. It reminded me of Prim after a nightmare.

"You shouldn't have..." he started, then saw my face set in defiance, ready to defend myself for looking after him, and quickly resigned, "...thank you."

I smiled. It was the least I could have done. I should have done more. I shouldn't have allowed him to send me away for even one second.

His whole body trembled on the sofa. The thunder still crashed above us, but was moving further away. He flinched every time it rumbled. He was such a gentle man. I wanted to ask why he had joined the army. He didn't seem the type. Not like Gale or most men back home, who were always ready to fight. But I knew his answer would probably be in English too complex to understand, and I didn't want to upset him more after his ordeal.

Peeta was still red in the face and the heat of the summer storm seemed to press in on us. I opened his shirt to try and cool down his sweaty body, looking to him to make sure it was okay as my fingers worked the buttons. He was barely aware of what I was doing, looking at me with glazed eyes, as though I was a hallucination.

When I undid the buttons I saw the expanse of scars and burns dotted across his chest.

My heart twisted, catching in my throat, and I wanted to cry for him. I felt prickly all over, under my skin. Who had done this to my husband? Hot anger pooled in my stomach at the helplessness of not being able to take revenge for him.

"Oh, your skin," I whispered, as though un-careful words might make it hurt more.

Tentatively I brushed my fingers over the raised marks, the clench in my heart blinding my mind to everything that would have told me not to touch him there, on his naked chest.

He sucked in air sharply.

But he was still worried about me, silly man.

"I'm sorry if it upsets you," he said softly, his voice still muddled with weariness.

I shook my head.

"My skin also" I said, looking him in the eyes as I lifted up my t-shirt to show him the patchwork of red burns on my belly from sliding under the fence when the electricity was on.

He gasped loudly and his eyes went wide. The horror of it made him snap into focus and pulled his weary body up to sitting. He reached for me automatically.

I let his hand softly brush over my damaged skin because it would be unfair not to. I had just done exactly that to him.

I recognised the emotions of my own reaction in his eyes clearer than I'd ever understood a word in English.

His hand was so big it completely covered my belly and in the places where my skin could still feel, his fingers tickled.

"You see, I'm soldier too" I smiled sadly at him and his eyes widened and got soft and then suddenly he could truly See me. For the first time since I'd met him, he was really seeing _me_. The real me.

I was so caught up in the feeling I didn't move away when he leaned down tenderly and pressed his lips to my belly, kissing the ruined skin. His lips were so unexpectedly soft, it made me dizzy.

My hands went to his hair automatically, threading through it and holding his face lightly when he had kissed a circle around my burns and raised his head. He drew back to look at me, but kept his hand on my skin, as though he could protect it from what had already happened to it.

"You're so brave," he murmured, so softly I may have imagined it. And then,

"I'm glad I didn't hurt you," his face was pained with concern.

"You never hurt me," I answered instantly. I was surer of this than anything else about my new life.

"You would not ever hurt me," I couldn't wait until I learned enough English to be able to express myself better.

I hadn't thought I'd care, but I was surprised by how much I wanted to say to Peeta, and how much it mattered to me that he understood.

He was still looking at me like he wasn't entirely sure I wasn't in his imagination. His eyes were drooping shut, though he fought to keep looking at me.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. That was dangerous. We'd been having such a nice time I didn't want to spoil it but you could have been hurt. I should have warned you right away, I didn't think it would happen so soon…" his mumbling was becoming incoherent with weariness.

I scooted along the sofa so he could lie down and, because he seemed unwilling to loosen his grip on me, I put his head in my lap as if he were Prim.

"Sleep," I commanded softly, trying to keep the sweetness in my voice.

It was easier than I'd have thought to imagine he was Prim. They both have a softness and goodness about them, like a glow. She would like him.

"Sleep now, Peeta, my husband," I cooed, though couldn't bring myself to use a stronger endearment than our marital status.

I ran my fingers through his sweaty hair and hummed Prim's favorite lullaby. He looked up at me like I was an angel. My legs were cramping but I was pleased to be able to repay his kindness by taking care of him. His eyes were drooping in spite of him trying to keep them open to listen to me. He pressed his face into my lap and his breathing evened out to sleep. Now my legs were tingly with numbness but I didn't move.

This was something I could give my husband. I could take care of him.

When I woke up I was being carried upstairs. I panicked, trying to escape the arms around me, still disoriented from sleep and hating being out of control.

I relaxed a bit when I realised it was Peeta, though I wished I had the language to tell him that I wasn't the kind of woman who appreciated being picked up.

When I struggled, Peeta held me tighter against him.

"Shh, it's okay. We're going to bed. We fell asleep on the couch," he said softly, near my ear.

I couldn't bring myself to dislike it. All his sweating during his episode earlier amplified the smell of him and I breathed it when I relaxed into him.

It wasn't awful. Not in the way I used to hold my nose and stick my tongue out when Gale came home sweaty after hunting. It was almost nice, almost sweet. Musky and somehow warm, even though it was a smell not a temperature.

The house was dark and the only sound was the ticks of the clock and the distant hum of the refrigerator that I still wasn't used to.

He laid me out on our bed so carefully that I started laughing into his shoulder. I wasn't used to being treated like a china doll. Maybe this was how all American ladies were treated. He was confused but I felt his smile through the dark. He always got so excited when I laughed.

"I'm going to shower," he murmured, his mouth near my ear again. "I'm all sweaty."

"No, stay," I pulled him down next to me.

"Don't mind sweaty," now it was his turn to laugh.

I was drifting back to sleep and almost there when I felt the loss of warmth around me. I registered there was a pillow under my head, I was on the bed now, so that meant Peeta must have put me down and rolled away to go to sleep.

I was so close to sleep that I didn't even realise I was doing it when I reached behind me for his arm and pulled it back across me like a blanket. The rest of his body followed over and curled around me.

The warmth was back.

I only realised what I'd done when I felt Peeta smile into my shoulder.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry again for the long wait! Hope the nice long chapter made up for it. I really do appreciate all your comments (and favs) and am very encouraged by the enthusiasm for this story.


	5. Privyet

**A/N:** _Italics _= Russian. Not Italics = English.

Buckle up, this is a long one...

* * *

I woke up first the next morning. The dawn was hazy bright through our curtains. My husband's episode must have really tired him out because he was supposed to leave for work before it got light.

I wondered if it was my responsibility to get up and go to the bakery until he woke up. I wouldn't know what to do when I got there, but I didn't want the family business to be troubled while he rested. There must be other workers at the bakery, but I hadn't seen them. I didn't know if Peeta had the keys to open up, and if he did where he kept them.

I hated not being able to be useful. I would have to ask him when he woke so that I knew for the future.

I turned in his arms, intending to wake him up gently, but he looked so peaceful I couldn't bring myself to do it. I watched his chest rise and fall, his expression serene, until his eyelids fluttered and opened sleepily.

He quickly jumped back when he saw me.

"I didn't! Sorry, I…." he mumbled, sleep heavy in his voice.

I grabbed his bicep to stop him and pull him back to me.

"OK, I know," I said, feeling guilty that I'd made him so wary of his own wife.

"I did it," I attempted a reassuring smile and placed his arm back over my waist.

His eyes were wide and stared at his arm as though it was a foreign object.

"This is OK?" he asked.

I nodded and closed my eyes, encouraging him to go back to sleep. He looked so tired. The bakery could wait.

When the weekend came, he couldn't contain his excitement through breakfast. He told me the bakery was closed on weekends. It was nice eating breakfast with him, even if it meant I only got half of his delicious pastries.

He seemed about to burst with the happy suspense as he cleared away our plates and turned to me.

"How would you like to make a phone call home today?" his smile lit up the kitchen.

"Yes!" my smile was as big as his.

"I like! Yes please!" I ran after him as he bounded upstairs like a puppy to get the computer.

I was about to speak to Prim and my mother. The joy flooded my whole body and I couldn't stop hugging him and smiling as he set up the computer.

"It's later there, nearly night time," he said, setting the computer in front of me as I sat with legs crossed on the bed.

He went to the telephone in our bedroom and dialed a long number. He beamed again when the person answered.

"Hello, yes, are you ready?" he spoke loudly and clearly.

My head snapped towards him. Was that them?

"I can talk?" I reached for the phone desperately.

He crossed over to the bed but kept the phone. I wondered why he would tease me so cruelly until a dial tone appeared on the computer. He clicked the screen and it filled with my little sister's smiling face.

"_Prim_!" I cried, the delight escaping me in tears, even though I tried to hold them back. I didn't want to upset her.

"_Hi Katniss_!" she waved, entranced with what I assumed was her own computer.

"_I can see you_!" she giggled.

"_I see you too, Little Duck_," I beamed, thinking my face might break from smiling.

"_Hello Katniss_," my mother appeared behind Prim smiling hesitantly. I was pleased to see she was dressed and clean, her hair washed and brushed.

"_Hello, you look well_," she nodded encouragingly "_I hope you're taking good care of her."_

"_Of course she is!"_ Prim bubbled happily, "_She's so much better since you've been gone. But we miss you!"_

"_I miss you too_," I reached out and touched the screen. She looked so real I forgot I couldn't stroke her blonde hair.

"_Your husband was so kind to send us these things_," Prim's eyes lit up. "_Is he a nice man?"_

I had completely forgotten Peeta was in the room and I looked around to see him perched on the end of the bed chuckling at our fast chatter in Russian.

"_Yes,_" I said to Prim, honestly. Her smile grew.

"_He's very nice. I'm very lucky_." I turned back to Peeta and smiled at him. He had no idea we were talking about him.

"Come say hello," I beckoned him over. He came eagerly, smoothing his hair back shyly.

I saw his head appear in the little window at the bottom of the screen when he was sat behind me on the bed.

"Hello," he waved a large hand. "So nice to meet you."

"Hello!" Prim gushed in broken English, "Thank you for kindness to my sister. I am happy to have kind brother!"

"I'm happy to have you too," he smiled. I could tell he was as charmed by Prim as everyone was.

"Hello, Mr. Peeta," my mother said from behind Prim, "We are so glad our Katniss married to you, a nice man."

"I'm honored to call her my wife," he was blushing now at all their gratitude.

"I make you daisy chain," Prim fished in her pocket and pulled out a string of daisies, handling her work-in-progress carefully.

Peeta leaned over my shoulder to see it properly. His chin rested on my bony shoulder, I could feel his voice rumble through my bones.

"I send to you, when finish. For thank you," Prim beamed at him, "Not finish yet. Must to add primrose, my flower. Most rare than daisies."

I blinked back tears at her sweet Prim-like gesture. I didn't have to worry about Peeta responding appropriately because of course he gushed over it like she was holding a string of jewels.

Even though the daisies were squashed from her pockets, would surely never survive international mail, and _what would a man want with a daisy chain?, _he seemed genuinely touched at Prim's effort to give as much as she could.

I was proud of my sister for trying to reciprocate his gifts. We weren't a charity.

I saw my husband take in the small dark room they were in, bare of most furniture except the broken wood chair behind them. I watched his eyes change as he understood me even better.

"_He's so handsome!"_ Prim had switched back to Russian and her eyes shone bright.

"_Katniss, do you love him yet? This is so romantic!"_ I laughed at her enthusiasm.

"_He's very nice_," I said, humoring her.

"_I like him a lot."_

I felt his weight shift off the bed behind me and worried for a second that he'd understood us.

"I'll leave you to talk," he inclined his head over to the door.

"I'll get started on some cheese buns for lunch."

He was making me a new kind of pastry every day to find out my favorite.

Prim and I talked for over an hour, long after the buns had gone cold, but he didn't come back and interrupt us. She told me about school and Rory and her goat. I tried not to make her too jealous when I told her I had to go eat the buns Peeta had made.

That afternoon was my first English class. I made Peeta come with me because I didn't want to be alone with strangers in this strange country.

How quickly he had become my safety net. He didn't seem to mind.

The class gave him the idea that he wanted to learn some Russian. He said it was only fair if I was making the effort to speak his language, and that he wanted to be able to talk to my family properly.

It was a sweet idea but although he was a great communicator, he didn't have a natural brain for new languages and quickly got confused. We decided he'd learn one word a day. The first was hello. _Privyet._

Prim shouted with excitement when we called them the next day and he used it.

After I hung up on a two-hour conversation about Prim's miraculous healing of Posy's pet mice, Peeta appeared in the doorway looking nervous.

He wanted to ask me a question, I could tell. I waited for him to gather his courage.

"Would you like to meet my family?" he said, surprising me.

I shouldn't have been surprised. We were married. He'd met my family already and they were all the way in Russia. His lived in the same town as us.

"They've been asking about you. They'd love to see you."

I found it very hard to refuse that hopeful look.

"Yes, OK," I answered, trying not to look too miserable about it.

"Great!" he smiled sheepishly.

"We're having dinner with them tonight. I hope that's okay."

It wasn't really. It was very sudden. My stomach dropped and filled with dread. But if I had to meet them some time it may as well be tonight.

He must have planned this before he asked me. This surprised me, and I realized how quickly I'd gotten used to him being painstakingly considerate. I shouldn't expect it all the time; it wasn't natural.

"Sorry to spring it on you," he looked guilty.

"I've been putting them off since you got here. I didn't want to overwhelm you. They're getting anxious to meet my new wife, since we didn't have a wedding or an engagement party or anything…I think they're just…curious," Peeta smiled but even he looked a little worried.

Great.

The distant sky was full of huge dark clouds that night, a threat of coming rain on the horizon. I took it as a bad omen.

Their house was even grander than ours. I held Peeta's hand so tight I could break it and they looked at me strangely when I didn't want to let go, even to take my jacket off.

I tried to smile at them but I don't trust new people easily and I'm not good at pretending.

His mother had a stern pinched face and I could tell before she even spoke that she didn't like me. The very idea of everything I am was repellent to her.

His father was like a super-size version of Peeta, but softer and rounder, the sparkle in his eye a little milder. He would be the easiest to win over. He was already smiling Peeta's smile, like he was happy to see me. Maybe he wouldn't mind too much that I'd joined his family.

"So nice to finally meet our daughter in law," he made to hug me, but I hid in Peeta's shoulder, so he just touched an awkward kiss to my cheek instead.

"No need to be shy around family, sweetheart," he patted my arm with his large calloused hand, "We're glad our Peeta found a nice girl."

I wondered why he assumed I was nice. Maybe he was mistaking my reluctance for demureness.

"She's certainly a looker, son," he winked at Peeta, beaming at me.

"Where has our son been hiding you?" was his mother's suspicious greeting.

She gave me a tight smile and brushed my cheek where Peeta's father had but it felt like an accusation.

"We were starting to wonder if he'd made you up," she looked me up and down and I couldn't help frowning at her.

Peeta laughed uneasily. I tried to stop my eyes narrowing.

I knew I mustn't face off with my mother-in-law. But it was against every natural instinct in me not to square up to a predator who was trying to intimidate me.

"I am happy to meet you," I directed my smile mostly to his father. I could look at him without glaring.

When we entered the dining room I saw my husband had two brothers. I realized with shame that I hadn't asked him about his family at all.

Their great blond heads were sat at the table already, one a darker shade than Peeta's, the other lighter. They were both bigger and bulkier than him. Older, I assumed. One was wearing a wedding ring.

"Hello, new sis!" the other called, through a mouthful of muffin with berries in it.

"Pre-dinner snacking, Phil?" Peeta nudged him playfully, earning himself a ruffle of the hair with a crumb covered hand.

"Just made these, testing them out," Phil answered, biting into the muffin again in the middle of his sentence.

The other brother shared an eye roll and a chuckle with Peeta.

I couldn't stop looking at the frivolous way Phil tore through the muffin, barely tasting it as he swallowed. Would I eat so voluptuously if I'd only ever known an excess of food?

"Lev, Phil, this is Katniss," Peeta tugged on my hand and I nodded at them, trying for a smile again.

I was still distracted by his brother tearing into the muffin.

I wasn't a shy person. I just really didn't care for new people until I'd decided if I liked them. And in my experience there was not much to like about most new people (Peeta being the obvious recent exception).

Not to mention I was self-conscious about my English, even though it was improving quickly since starting classes, especially my understanding. And Peeta's hand made me feel safe. So I kept hold of it until I sat down.

His brothers were friendly but rowdy. Lev, the bigger one with the wedding ring, got into a play wrestling match with Peeta before dinner and their mother had to swat at them with a broom to break them up.

I sat watching next to Phil, who offered me a muffin with a grin.

His brothers were more like the men I knew at home. Loud, brashly spoken, physically aggressive. They seemed more the type to have gone into the army than Peeta. Especially Lev, who had Peeta in a headlock again the second their mother turned around. Watching them scramble around together I could imagine Peeta as a little boy. The littlest of the three.

Dinner was delicious, as expected from a family of bakers, but it was hard to enjoy it with Peeta's mother watching me intently across the table.

His father and brothers and Peeta himself all tried to crack jokes and chatter to break the tension but it wasn't a comfortable situation.

I bristled every time she turned the conversation back to me, snooping for details about my home and family that were none of her business.

"So, Katniss, what made you want to come to America?" she asked, for the fourth or fifth time. The men were bantering about sports so there was no one to take the conversation in a less accusatory direction this time. She'd chosen her moment well.

The silence hung for a few seconds while I racked my brain for something to say. I could hardly tell her the truth; it was exactly what she wanted to hear.

"To marry Peeta," I settled for, smiling over at him uneasily. He squeezed my hand across the table and I was thankful for his steady presence.

"Why Peeta? Of all men?" she snorted.

_Because he chose me from the Agency's website and paid enough that my family will eat for a year _would not be a good answer.

Luckily, he saved me again.

"The real question is why Katniss," the shine in his eyes when he looked at me wasn't just for his mother's benefit. It made me nervous.

"I just knew, the moment I saw her. I'd never known anyone like her," his voice had that awed quality again.

His mother made a dismissive sound.

"I'll bet. Never known anyone open their legs so fast, more like," she muttered into her plate, but everyone heard her.

"Carrena…" Peeta's father tried, but it seemed her floodgate had opened. She made another huffing sound through her nose.

"I'm sorry, but look at her. It's obvious she could care less about him. They didn't even have a proper wedding ceremony, no engagement party, he just picked her up overnight" she was on a roll now, Peeta's father's protests weren't stopping her.

"You can't blame the boy. He's so delicate and emotional, so desperate for attention, of course he's going to fall all over himself to keep hold of the only girl in the world who'll open her legs for him."

I gasped. No one looked at me. They were all watching Peeta's mother like she was a volcano about to explode.

My fork scraped the plate loudly as I raised a mouthful of food and swallowed my indignation._ I will not react to this provocation. I will not hurl this food across the table at her. I will behave like a polite and classy wife._

"Carrena, Peeta's a fine boy, he's had plenty of nice girlfriends," it was odd to see such a large man act so meek as he half-heartedly defended his son. Was he more worried about upsetting his wife than Peeta?

I almost wanted to slap him more than her.

Another dismissive snort.

"Before he got his leg blown off," her frankness was so cruel. I couldn't believe they were letting her go on like this. It wasn't my place to stop her but my hand was in a fist around my knife with the effort not to throw it at her.

"Even with two legs on the wrestling team, top of his art class, prizes for his poems, performing in those school plays, all blue eyes and muscles and no sense" she parroted with an almost mocking tone, "he was always overly sentimental, an easy target. But with half a leg missing girls have hardly been lining up for him, have they?" Her lip curled and she pointed a fork at me.

"She took advantage of a desperate man. She seduced her way into this family."

She wiped a string of salvia from her lip with the back of her hand.

"Mom, it's not like that," Peeta jumped to my defence. Absurdly he was more concerned with defending my honor than the atrocious things his mother had just said about him.

"We haven't even…" he trailed off, as though suddenly realizing what he was saying.

Both his brothers stared at him. His mother laughed, accidentally spitting out a piece of pie.

"You haven't…Oh Lord, boy," she started to laugh fully in spite of herself, shaking with the force of it.

"You are one tragic case. Even the foreign wife you bought on the internet doesn't want you?" she snorted through her laughter. "I wish you wouldn't tell us these things, it's very depressing."

"Carrena, stop." Peeta's father took away her glass of wine. His protest was firmer this time, but his hands trembled.

"Don't baby him, Barlee," she snapped. "This is real life, he needs to hear it."

Peeta was bright red to the tips of his ears, just looking at his mother with wide eyes. I'd never hated a person more.

"It's his own fault. He got his leg blown off," she declared, as though this was a common topic of dinner conversation.

Peeta's dad winced.

"If he hadn't wanted to go to that ridiculous culinary college, he wouldn't have had to join the army to earn his tuition," she said like it was the most logical thing in the world.

"Only an idiot joins the military as a _chef _and ends up the only one in his regiment with his leg blown off."

Peeta's dad covered his wife's hand with his, looking as though he wished he could cover her mouth.

"She doesn't mean that, son," he said, full of shame.

"If we'd have known you'd end up like this, of course we'd have just given you the tuition. Your mother just…didn't understand…at the time…why you needed the training when you've been baking since you could walk." He grimaced.

"You're such a talented boy, you always have been. You didn't need those classes, you have a natural culinary talent." He added, as though that made it better.

So that was why my husband joined the army.

Maybe this was usual in America, but it seemed very wrong to me. It would be one thing if they had no other way of paying for it, but if the money was just sitting there and they refused to support him with it…sending him to a warzone instead…It was one of the most heartless things I'd ever heard. And I'd seen a lot of awful things growing up in poverty.

It was the wrong time to be pleased about it, but I realized I was understanding most of the conversation. The English classes were paying off already.

"Thought he was too good for us," his mother scoffed. "All these fanciful dreams. I always said he was too delicate and sentimental." She said this like she was owed vindication for pointing it out.

"A few months in the real world and he realized his place."

Peeta's father drew breath to argue but before he could even start she interrupted.

"I'm not being mean!" she lied. "Life is hard. Dreams are fine for night-time but in the harsh light of day, everyone has a place and his is here in the bakery. He can get creative enough with those damn cakes. The army did him a favor taking his leg. Knocked some sense into him."

Lev stood up, dropping his silverware with a clatter.

"That's it." He said and pushed his chair back with a scrape.

"We take a lot from you," he said to his mother, who looked surprised.

"We always have. Peeta the most because he's the baby. But all of us. We just sit here and take it. Because you're our mother and if it's on your mind we know damn well you won't let us go without hearing about it."

He paused to reign in his temper. For a moment I thought he might pick up his dinner plate and throw it at her.

"Well that's about all I can stomach tonight. I'm glad I didn't bring Caroline." He turned away from her, disgusted.

"I don't know why you let her talk to you like that," he said to Peeta, half pitying, half accusatory. "But I'm not going to sit here and listen to it."

He stormed out. His mother shook with outrage and screeched after him.

"Oh there he goes, as soon as things get difficult," she shouted.

"Don't you worry, Leven, we don't need your input! Just like your father and your brother are managing the bakery fine without you!" she called after him. He didn't turn around.

A few seconds later the front door slammed and we heard his car start up and screech away.

Phil didn't look happy either, but he sat where he was, steadily shovelling food into his mouth. His eyes were fixed on the plate, as though he could block the conversation out by looking at it hard enough.

"Phillo, chew with your mouth closed, we have company," his mother snapped.

We finished the rest of dinner in uncomfortable silence.

"Anyone for some coffee?" My mother in law asked with false cheer as she cleared the plates. I couldn't believe her gall.

I stood up. Politeness through dinner was one thing but I wasn't about to subject my husband to extra rounds of abuse, whether he wanted it or not.

"No, thank you" I said glaring at her and wishing I could say a lot more. Everyone turned to me, surprised.

"I think we'll have early night," I took hold of Peeta's hand and gave him the best encouraging wife look I could muster and a wink, hoping it might save him some face with his brother and father after the embarrassing reveal that I hadn't slept with him yet.

I'd only been thinking of my own comfort. I hadn't considered how shameful it would look for him.

That wasn't reason enough to do it, but I felt badly about it. He was the best man I'd known since my father. He shouldn't have to feel ashamed or inferior, especially for respecting my boundaries.

Peeta looked surprised and a bit pleased at my hand in his and let me tug him away from the table to get our coats.

"So nice to meet you," I said to his father and Phil.

"Thank you for having us," to his mother, because it was the nicest thing I could say with full sincerity.

She barely acknowledged me and gave Peeta a brusque hug, like the awful things she'd said about him earlier were a usual evening's conversation.

When we got outside I looked for the car and then remembered we'd walked there. It was a nice summer evening, warm with a breeze, though the dark clouds hung not far off. We started the walk back.

I realized I was still holding his hand and let go of it. He looked at my hand, but didn't say anything. His eyes were on the floor. Would I have to speak first?

"It is not that I do not want you."

He stopped in his tracks. I hadn't thought I'd say that until it came out. Maybe something about what a witch his mother was or how sorry I was that she treated him the way she did. But not that.

Peeta scuffed the toe of his fake leg's boot with his real foot.

"It's ok if you don't feel like that about me. Don't listen to anything my mother says. I don't. I'm sorry about her. What she said about you. It's just the way she is. I'm sorry if it upset you. Just forget all of it. You don't have to worry about it. Even if you never feel anything for me, I'll completely understand."

He smiled at me, meaning to encourage me, but it was a sad smile.

He started walking again, but stopped when he realized I wasn't following.

He waited for me to say something but all I could do was shake my head. I couldn't find the right words in either English or Russian.

He could see that words had escaped me and like the hero he was, he came to my rescue again, filling the space between us with so many words. They only made me more confused.

"I know it would be unlikely, even if I was whole, but with a missing leg, and I can't even sit through a thunderstorm…I didn't really expect you to…."

He gestured, unable to finish, but I understood. He swallowed heavily.

He watched me with a sad dreamy look, like he wanted to say more. And then he did say more, and it came pouring out of him like a confession.

"You just…in your video seemed so…genuine. You weren't pretending. You were…real. I watched some others; they seemed false. When I was with other girls, real girls, even before the leg thing, they always seemed to have…agendas…it felt like we were playing a game but I didn't know the rules and I didn't know what my moves were supposed to be," he laughed at himself, shaking his head.

"You just seemed…different. Real. In that video you…you were surly and rude and not false for one moment and so when you said you wanted to meet a man and move to America and your eyes lit up with this _fire_…I believed you," he sighed.

"And then when you talked about your sister…I knew I was a gonner," the dreamy look in his eyes grew more intense than I'd ever seen it.

"It was pure love when you talked about her. Love like I'd never seen. I haven't even seen my _parents _express love like that. I just couldn't help imagining, _what would it be like if she loved __me__ that much?"_

Poor man. After meeting his family I'm not surprised he was so taken aback at affectionate familial love. I was more devoted to Prim than most, but he deserved so much more than them. He deserved to be someone's Prim. Someone they'd live and die for. He deserved it for all the same reasons Prim did; he was pure goodness, such a rare quality these days. He was kind and generous and unabashedly heartfelt.

"One day, I mean," he backpedalled nervously, "Not right away. I'm not crazy. But one day…"

"I guess this is all coming out now so I'll just say it all...I don't even know if you're understanding everything...it's so embarrassing I almost hope you're not..."

I was.

"...I got this idea that I would do whatever it took to get you to talk about _me _with that look on your face, with your voice so soft and warm and tender and honest and...I convinced myself that if I could just meet you, you'd see I was a genuine person too, and I have so much love to give to the right person, I know I do."

My heart broke at this. It was so painfully true.

"And I'll keep trying to win you over as long as you want me to. Unless you don't want me to," he smiled, almost apologetically.

"Then I won't. I would never pressure you into anything. And even if we only get to have this…Even if you decided next week to go back to Russia. Even just to have met you has been..amazing."

He shook his head, all out of words. The ones he'd said whizzed around me in the night. He was looking at me, looking all over me, waiting for my response.

I was frozen. I tried to speak, make a noise, anything, and my voice caught in my throat. I didn't know what to say because I'd understood most of what he said and it made me feel an ocean of complicated things.

No one had ever said things like those to me before. They weren't the kind of things that anyone said ever.

Maybe in America they were.

My insides felt a pull towards him like a magnet. If I hadn't been completely paralysed in the moment I probably would have done something crazy like launch myself at him and hug him, hold him, get as close to him as possible. Or push him to the ground and run into the forest, to the next town, back to Russia.

Because he had said everything I'd ever hoped to hear from a man, but assumed no man would ever be good enough to say. Everything I'd ever feared when I resigned to have as little as possible to do with men for my own preservation. It was like he snuck inside my brain and read my deepest thoughts. The ones I kept away from even myself because it hurt to want them. It was dangerous to consider them. And he said it all with those wide blue eyes so sincerely fixed on me like I was the only woman in the universe.

His hair had gotten rumpled from his hands running through it and if I wasn't frozen I would have smoothed it down. Though whether I would have hugged him or knocked him to the ground after that, I wasn't sure.

Being married to the man was one thing but actually getting involved with him, opening my heart to him, was something else entirely.

In all my preparation for what I might have to endure in my American marriage, I had not prepared for this.

I was almost certain I didn't want this.

Did I?

I'd never considered wanting it because I didn't know it was a possibility.

Even if I'd married freely I wouldn't have dreamed of finding this kind of comfortable feeling with someone.

My best friend Gale was as close I thought I could get and when we tried being together, I decided firmly against it because he made me want to kill him more than he made me glad I was with him.

My parents had been happy together, but I never wanted to feel _that_ much for someone. I couldn't afford to be that useless to Prim if I did and they died. That kind of relationship was like a disease.

No matter how nice the warmth I felt for Peeta was, I would never let it go that far.

But I'd never felt so strongly about a person who wasn't Prim. I couldn't ignore the pure, intense feeling throbbing in me now. I'd felt hints at it in nice moments with him since I arrived. Now it hit me with terrifying force. Every day I understood him more and it thrilled and frightened me.

My love for Prim was what I lived for. This feeling for Peeta wasn't the same thing, nowhere near it, but the feeling had a similar texture. I hadn't known there was space inside me to start to care for more people like that.

And it wasn't just my heart responding to him being good and kind and deserving, like I did with Prim. It wasn't a simple feeling of caring, like I had for her.

On top of that it was his eyes and the way he was looking at me and how every part of my body could sense that it was near his and could remember being held against it.

It was a feeling a woman has for a man.

The clearest thought in my brain was that I'd never have guessed blond and sentimental would be the kind of man to thaw my swearing off the gender.

Before I could say or do anything ridiculous, the dark clouds opened and sheets of rain burst down on us, shattering the moment. Washing away his beautiful terrifying words.

We were instantly drenched. The rain was warm but made me shiver as it clung to my skin. There was no thunder to alarm Peeta but the rain fell in thick sheets, soaking us to the skin in seconds.

"Let's get inside!" Peeta shouted through the roar of the rain.

He grabbed my hand and we ran the rest of the way to the house, the rain making me grip his hand tight to stop our palms slipping.

As we ran the rain washed away some of the evening's tension. There was no time for awkward pauses in our breathless hurry to reach home. By the time we threw open the front door, we were actually laughing.

We shut the door on the rain and Peeta chased me upstairs, wrapping us both in towels over our wet clothes and attempting to pat me dry as I inched closer to him. The rain on my skin and soaking my clothes made me shiver and I wanted to be warm. He was warm.

I opened his towel and joined him inside it, dropping mine at our feet. He let me snuggle against his chest while he rubbed the towel against the parts of my arms and back he could reach.

My teeth chattered. When I looked up at him, his eyes had that dreamy look again.

"I can't believe how lucky I am," he said to the top of my head.

"Not very," I snorted, "You're all wet."

"I get to stand here with you in a towel. I'm the luckiest man in the world," his grin was infectious.

It was such a silly thing to say. So impossibly light and frivolous, I could hardly believe he really said things like this to me. But he did. So much.

All the things he said outside his parents' house were suddenly whizzing around us again. They filled my head until it was strangely blank.

I felt so unusually light, as though I might float away if the towel weren't around us.

I noticed with surprising calm that my face was floating up, I was rising on my tiptoes, my chin tilting until my lips brushed Peeta's.

He sucked in a soft gasp and brushed his lips against mine in retaliation.

I didn't know if I was doing it because I wanted to make all the horrible things his mother said disappear or because of the intense warm feeling I got earlier and all the sweet things he said (sweet things he _always_ said—not just tonight but convincing me day by day that by some impossible odds I might have married the best, good-est man in the world) or because in that moment all wet together in a towel with his lips so close and plump and tempting, I just really, really wanted to.

"Katniss," he breathed, in wonder.

I pressed my lips back against his. They were soft as pillows. He bent closer to me so I didn't have to tiptoe and wrapped his arms around me when I swayed with the change in balance. We began a light little back and forth between our mouths, building into slow, gentle languid kisses that sent tingles running through me, adding to my wet shivers.

Who was I? I felt like another woman. I was Mrs Mellark, kissing my American husband in a towel.

And I liked it.

He breathed a happy noise into my mouth and pulled me closer, warmth spreading through me where his hands travelled along my arms, firm and gentle.

Those girls who were no longer lining up for him since his leg didn't know what they were missing.

I worried that now I'd got him started he might never stop. I felt rather than heard a low hum in this throat, almost like a growl. But he pulled back before I had the chance to, nudging my nose affectionately with his and kissing the corner of my mouth in a way that made me itch for more when he pulled his lips away.

Had he ended this way on purpose? Was he trying to entice me? I'd swear he was intentionally muddling my brain if his tender eyes didn't look so heart-stoppingly sincere.

Nuzzling his nose against mine one more time, he swept me entirely off my feet, packaged in our towel, and threw me easier than a sack of flour onto our bed.

I laughed when a pair of long sleeve pyjamas came flying at me, landing over my face.

When I sat up, Peeta was heading to the bathroom to change, his own pyjamas in hand.

I made a noise involuntarily. I hadn't imagined he'd _ravish_ me immediately (well, maybe I had been irrationally afraid of that). But we'd just kissed…I'd kissed my new husband for the first time and he was acting like it was any other night. Like what we'd just done hadn't been huge and frankly a bit life-changing.

He smiled at me in the doorway of the bathroom.

"It's okay. I know you don't…" he shook his head, "If anything you want…slowly…" he shrugged.

I was surprised how awkward my husband was talking about this. He had such an easy charm most of the time. It seemed he was trying so hard not to say the wrong thing.

I suddenly felt he might see me as a hunter sees game. He sensed I was prone to fleeing. He was trying not to frighten me.

It made me feel embarrassed but at the same time protected. Feeling protected was so unusual it was almost uncomfortable. I was used to being the one who did the protecting.

I lay there adjusting to feeling protected while I listened to him move clunkily around the bathroom. I couldn't stop thinking about what his lips felt like against mine. I touched my hand to my mouth where his lips had been.

Was it too soon to kiss him again when he came back?

He was the second person I'd ever kissed in my life, and by far the best.

I rolled over and smiled into our pillows. The odds really were a million to one that I'd get so lucky.

There were so many more complicated things to think about, things I really should be considering before doing anything with him, but for now just touching my fingertips to my mouth and remembering his lips there was enough to chase them away with that light happily thoughtless feeling.

Frivolity was so unusual to me. I fought away the nagging thought that this couldn't end well. I was here anyway, wasn't I? I already was doing everything I needed to for my family's survival. I may as well take as much happiness from the situation as I could get. Especially when the same thing that caused my happiness also made life happier for a kind person who greatly deserved it.

When Peeta came to bed, we didn't even pretend to curl up in opposite corners to go to sleep. We kissed slowly again and snuggled tightly into each other in the middle of the mattress.

Peeta drew back to look at me, tucking strands of damp hair behind my ear.

"Don't feel like you have to kiss me, just because I said…" he started, but I cut him off by pressing my mouth against his.

"I don't," I said into his mouth. "You know me. You said you saw it. I don't pretend."

"That's true," he said happily. "So you really...want me?"

I pressed my mouth harder against his, wrapping my body around him so completely I could disappear into his large chest. I felt his smile on my lips.

He whispered "Oh, Katniss" many times. It got lost in our kisses.

When we settled down to sleep, still a little rain-damp, Peeta pulled the duvet up to my chin. But it was his big hands running up and down my back that stopped my teeth chattering.

* * *

**A/N:** Kissing! Feelings! Hooray! Credit to _districtflower24_ for the idea that Peeta would want to learn Katniss' native language.

Someone asked about Gale & Katniss' relationship history, you might be interested in the answer:

Kind of implicit. Gale and Katniss were best friends, attempted a relationship but decided to stay friends (mostly Katniss' decision, he was in love with her). He was very focussed on revolutionary activity, she just wanted to survive and look after her family, they both had fiery tempers together and sulked a lot, too much alike to work together. Similar to canon (or what probably would have happened in canon without the events of the Games).

My latest AU fic recs for you to fall in love with while you're waiting for updates are:

_Come Home_ by the great peski0piksi (Prim isn't reaped but Peeta is, Katniss goes to see him before he leaves – only on chapter 3 & I'm already obsessed) and _The Grandmentor_ by the fantastic silvercistern (third part of an exquisitely gorgeous series). Both these great authors have completed stories you'll love too.

Also want to make sure everyone knows about an old (completed) favorite, _No More Owed_ by the talented Enna Energe. (one of the most realistic Katnisses I've ever read.)

Plus a fun beginning of an AU, _The One Who Hung The Moon_ by Moose DeEvita, and a very sweet little Finnick/Annie oneshot _Token of Trust_ by MrsTater.

And I hear misshoneywell is updating _Blood From Stone_ tomorrow. (Peeta & Katniss are merchant class friends forced into an arranged marriage, stunningly realistic). It's really fantastic. Go take a look.

And my recs from last chapter are still great reads. Hope you're checking them out.

Thanks for reading _LYLT_. I really appreciate your responses and am so glad you're enjoying. Hope you enjoyed this one. Keep letting me know what you think!


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